Sanctum of the First Flame — Capital of the Imperium Solis
The chamber thrummed with power.
Lucen stood at the center of a circular platform carved from obsidian and veined with Source-conductive crystal. Glyphs spiraled outward beneath his feet, glowing faintly as the imperial magisters chanted in perfect harmony.
Dozens of figures watched from the elevated ring above nobles, Arbiters, and High Weavers from across the Five Kingdoms and the Solarian Dominion.
At the highest point of the sanctum upon the Throne of Accord sat Emperor Caer Valemere, cloaked in radiant white, crowned with twin arcs of woven crystal.
To his right sat Archon Velian Thorne, Lucen's father, dressed in the black-and-violet regalia of the Thorne bloodline.
Lucen couldn't see Serenya.
But he could feel her absence.
He inhaled slowly, grounding himself. This was the moment he had trained for all his life. The Rite of the Source the sacred ritual of awakening. Where one's Core would be drawn forth and aligned with the strands they were destined to weave.
He had no fear.
Until the burning started.
It wasn't supposed to hurt.
The glyphs flared bright too bright. His breath caught in his throat. Something twisted in his chest, sharp and unnatural.
His knees buckled.
Agony carved down his spine. His heartbeat surged into chaos.
A bitter taste surged into his mouth sharp, metallic, all too familiar.
His eyes widened. His mind flashed back to the night before the drink, the toast, Serenya's kiss.
Poison.
He choked, eyes wide.
The memory came unbidden — the way she'd smiled, the way she'd said "To the future."
That warmth… it hadn't been love.
It had been poison.
And she had given it to him with trembling hands and a soft kiss, knowing what it would do.
His heart broke long before his body did.
The glyphs beneath him spiraled inward. Light converged above his chest forming the seed of a Core. A glowing sphere hovered in the air, faintly pulsing.
Lucen gasped. Even through the pain, he felt it: a resonance. The Source was responding.
He had been chosen.
But then the light inside the Core flickered.
The sphere trembled.
Cracks formed across its surface.
Fractures split it apart like glass under pressure.
And then it shattered.
A rain of light fell around him.
For one breathless moment, the sanctum held still.
Then came the backlash.
A thunderclap of raw force burst from the broken Core. Arcane whiplash lashed out in every direction. Lucen was flung backward as if struck by a hammer of light.
Blood burst from his mouth. His vision went white.
He collapsed to one knee, body convulsing. Veins in his arms flared black, his pulse erratic. Blood dripped from his mouth, trailing down his chin and staining the obsidian floor.
Gasps rang out. One of the magisters cried, "The Core! He .. it's ruptured…!"
Lucen clutched his chest. His heart felt like it was tearing itself apart.
And then
The great doors of the sanctum opened.
Kaelen entered.
Wearing the heir's white-and-gold.
Serenya walked beside him, her hand in his.
Lucen's pain froze. Not from relief.
From realization.
He turned his gaze toward the dais.
To the Emperor, seated at the center of the Imperium. Watching with cold serenity.
To his father, seated beside the throne, face unreadable. No outrage. No sorrow.
To his brother, garbed in the role Lucen had earned.
And to Serenya the girl who once kissed him with stars in her eyes.
Not one of them moved.
Not one of them called his name.
Every face that had once meant loyalty, safety, love…
Every face turned against him.
His fingers closed around the hilt of his sword.
Steel whispered from its sheath.
The chamber recoiled in shock.
"Guards! Arrest him!" Kaelen's voice rang out. "He draws steel in the presence of the Emperor!"
Lucen's voice cracked, thick with blood and fury.
"You poison me… destroy my Core… and then call me traitor?"
"Disarm him!"
The first guard charged. Lucen sidestepped and slammed the man's head into the black stone floor.
The second followed. Lucen turned, blade flashing, catching the soldier's thigh.
He moved like a dying storm. Sloppy, wounded but relentless.
Three. Four. Five.
Each strike bought him a second more.
Each wound slowed him down.
Six. Seven. Eight.
Blood poured from his arms, his side, his mouth. His vision blurred.
Nine. Ten.
Lucen stood amidst the broken bodies of his attackers, sword shaking in his hand.
He turned toward the dais, chest heaving.
Kaelen stepped back. Serenya clung to his arm.
The Emperor remained seated.
Velian Thorne looked away.
Lucen's sword slipped from his grasp.
He dropped to his knees.
Then collapsed.
And no one moved to catch him.
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[End of Chapter Two]
Next: Chapter Three – The Broken Oath
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